--- dr. spencer reid / baugenius.
FEATURES FALLEN ; expected as much, the concern that writes itself there. form gone tense and arms crossed —– behaviorally it’s obvious, doesn’t take a profiler to see changes in body language, know what they imply, and for a moment doubt rears itself in his mind because there’s no way, no right way to break news, copycat murders, lives ended again. there’s no right way to dredge up the past from the grave its been buried in, locked away in a box for years, key hidden away. there’s no right way but it falls upon him nonetheless —– responsibility, weight doesn’t escape him, blanketed in the air, graveness dripping from it all.
he follows with hands in pockets and a swallow at his lips, hesitance in steps, though masked features and calmness in gaze ; years of work have allowed ability to measure emotion, hold back uncertainty and more behind gazes placid and mouths turned even, and as threshold is crossed a nod is given, hands moving to close door but not before eyes shift past hallway ; empty but for a few stragglers, clearing out with some haste. shift in posture, then, confident at least that they’re alone —– whatever words may be said don’t need to be heard by anyone outside, whatever tragedy must be unleashed to waiting ears doesn’t need to be for all to hear.
“ anniversaries often hold a certain weight ———- for survivors and bystanders alike they tend to trigger emotional responses, “ begins with something simple ; facts often a safety net and now holds no exception, above all else meant to ease worry, start off small. “ more recently ———- days ago, on the fifteen year anniversary of the original woodsboro murders … a copycat killer surfaced again, “ pause ; tones heavy find a break in words, allow to absorb, settle into bones like something old and brought to life again. “ two students were found brutally murdered ; same m.o., same signature, by all means the same unsub had the case not been already ———- closed years ago, “ breath breaks past lips near frustrated ; any leads they have seem directionless, all they have a profile held together by loosely - tied threads, what they know about those that recreate previous crime, those longing for recognition, craving the attention, the media surge —– whatever blackout they’d hoped to achieve had been crushed even before they’d arrived and the word seems to spread more with every passing day ; part of his job to deliver news before some tabloid could do it for him. “ our hope ———- is that taking your … past experience and current expertise into consideration ; you could offer some insight into the case we may be lacking. “
it’s almost as though his heart stopped, all to take it’s time in venturing to be the lump in his throat at reid’s words. randy only ever paid any attention to woodsboro for anything pertaining to one angela meeks --- his mother --- though, to his knowledge not long after his ‘funeral’ she had moved away from that godforsaken place. a part of him didn’t want to know about the goings-on in that hellhole anymore... but, wasn’t that what having skeletons in your closet was? being haunted by your past no matter the content of it? he chewed idly at the inside of his cheek before reaching to remove his glasses and rest them atop his desk, seconds later he pinches the bridge of his nose. memories of a life that he wished wasn’t the truth of him surfacing like fresh blood spreading across gauze and he sighs, moving to let his weight settle in his chair.
tragedy seemed to flow in woodsboro’s veins just the same as it did those who’d lived, survived, as well as some who had died in that place. the fact that it was all happening again --- more-so that some sick fucks felt it necessary to make that sad town relive it’s dark past with crimson all over again? well, randy could little deny irritation among other emotions that he would rather not voice... he prayed quietly that it would not be something that dragged sid back into things --- she deserved peace --- but he wasn’t certain that anyone involved would be so lucky, especially not with doctor spencer reid sitting before him like this.
❛ ... --- ❜ words stuck in his throat easily at first as he tried to formulate a response. was he ready to finally be a consult? no. did he feel on some level obligated? yes. he could not sit idly by when people were dying. and with the rules of horror in mind, it being a copycat and all, the body count was far from over at two. fifteen years since the woodsboro murders and thirteen since he ‘died’ in the windsor college murders were his experience and expertise, it was what would make him a good... resource. he clear his throat, though it sounds more like a frustrated sigh, ❛ — the woodsboro murders were about sid’s mom --- though when you boil it down, even the windsor college murders pertained to her in some respect... mickey altieri was just an idiot who wanted infamy while mrs. loomis was, well, yeah... this new rash, this resurgence would make it a tetralogy and if that is the intent? well, all i can say here and now is that things are about to get interesting. technology has changed, the world has changed. ❜ he pauses, reluctance present but dissipating, ❛ do you need me to come to quantico or do you have files on you? ❜